


Fuel for the Fire

by razielim



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Ass to Mouth, I don't even know what to tag this, M/M, Other, Oviposition, Tentacle Monsters, Tentacle Rape, Tentacle Sex, and lotor is very spiteful and vulnerable, there's tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 21:02:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11906160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/razielim/pseuds/razielim
Summary: Lotor reflects on past injustices. He's smiling, but that's never a good thing for others.





	Fuel for the Fire

In his youth, Prince Lotor was attached to the crews of various Commanders. He learned different command styles, learned how to handle a variety of situations: rebel sabotage, insubordination, dangerous deep space phenomena. The sort of things that every intergalactic leader should be prepared for. Lotor loved it. He loved learning. It had been Haggar’s idea, and as much as he loathed to admit it, as much as he hated the space witch for numerous other cruelties, sending him away to learn from experience was the most generous thing anyone had ever done for him. And though he had to tolerate endless comments about his size, his looks, and his heritage every time he goes out onto a voyage... it was still better than being cooped up in Central Command. Still better than kneeling before his father like a well-trained dog.

Over the years, he’d gotten used to getting screwed over. He didn’t know know if the Commanders did it of their own undertaking because they resented him and wanted to provide amusement for their crew, or whether it was done under Zarkon’s orders to test his son’s resilience. Whenever there was an evacuation, his royal pod was always taken by someone else before he could get to it. Whenever there was a scouting mission with a high likelihood of failure and death, everyone looked to the Prince to lead it. Too regularly to even count, his armor was sabotaged, defaced with urine or come, or hidden until after he needed it.

Lotor’s adaptability and survivability in adulthood are no accident. He won them by learning a lot of hard lessons as an adolescent and a young adult. 

One particularly memorable incident, and it both brings a smile to his face and makes his lower lid on his right eye twitch in pure bitterness as he lounges in his dimly lit bedchamber, was when Commander Prorok had captured a stray Xreophar while cruising through the Rilar nebula. 

It was just after Lotor had celebrated his coming of age ceremony, and right around the time he’d first started to find Galra ejaculate on his weapons and armor, as apparently the soldiers had decided Lotor was finally old enough to harass in this way. Not that coming of age had changed anything for Lotor. Being away from the Central Command meant being away from the palace courtesans and he was still just as fresh, and still just as busy learning to rule to take time away for such things.

Not that anyone knew.

Not that it would have made things easier for him if they did.

It became clear rather quickly that the Xreophar had some sort of ailment or injury that needed to be treated or the creature’s health would continue to dwindle and the abundant source of precious resources would perish before it could be delivered to the Halziffa system for farming. To no one’s surprise, Prorok delivered a heartfelt and extremely insulting message that as leader and ambassador for the Emperor, as well as someone that possessed a royal grace and gentleness that no lowly soldier was capable of, Prince Lotor would be the best choice to go into the chamber and investigate what the issue was. 

So, in he went. The jeers and catcalls didn’t start until after he was in the plyocarbonate chamber, unable to see or hear them very well, but knowing that he was on full display before everyone gathered in the hold. Nothing to do but set his jaw and climb over the large Xreophar limbs to search for signs of infection.

Lotor chuckles as he recalls his determination to not show any fear, ever, even back then, when he was smaller and without allies, and there was  _so much_  to fear.

He tried to move fast.

Despite bravely ignoring the looming threat, he knew  _why_ there were tendrils of tentacles lazily trying to wrap around his ankles and knees. He clung tightly to the hope that the Xreophar’s illness would keep it moving too slow to be a concrete danger and kept going with his investigation, brushing away the curious appendages.

When the Xreophar’s affections started getting more aggressive, Lotor considered bolting. He considered it, but didn’t act on it. Prorok would only make him go back in. And the soldiers would be insufferable. When he started to struggle untangling himself from the Xreophar’s embrace, the noise from outside the plyocarbonate wall grew louder. Lotor didn’t dare curse even under his breath lest the crew saw how much the task was getting under his skin.

There was only a small section of the Xreophar’s main mass left unexplored when Lotor finally decided his investigation complete. The Galra outside wouldn’t notice that he’d overlooked such a negligent portion, and the creature was getting too riled up to be safe. Lotor squirmed out of the hold the tentacles had on his left arm, wriggled out of the ones on his right leg, unwrapped the ones that had snuck around his neck, shook his left arm clear again, and in a moment of clarity, realized he had to run.  _Now._

It turned out to be too late for clarity.

Before he could move a single pace forward, his feet were mired once more. He struggled, freed himself, rolled through a gap in the writhing mass, and found himself hopelessly tangled.

Lotor still thinks sometimes that if it had been any other Galra, their comrades would have come saved them. Despite the oft hailed, “Victory or Death!” values, Galra are loath to watch comrades of equal rank suffer indignities. 

But he wasn’t anyone else, he was Prince Lotor, half-breed, small, pretty, and infuriatingly above all of them in rank. So when the moment came that Lotor realized there was no way he would get out of the plyocarbonite chamber without help, and looked hopefully at the humilock through which he’d entered, all he saw was a leering face pressed grotesquely to the plyocarbonate, tongue wagging in a rude gesture. The cheering had reached a crescendo, and Lotor knew he was about to suffer the greatest indignity of his rather short, and already impressively undignified life.

He got through the experience mostly by keeping up a mantra of,  _“Do not shed a single tear.”_  Focusing enough on his spite helped dull the rest of the experience down to a background fog. Just as horrifying, but less immediate. Something he could deal with later when he wasn’t on display in front of the entire ship’s crew.

It lasted for hours.

The creature took its time finding the orifice it had in mind, slowly tried pushing in through Lotor’s lycrine bodysuit, soaking it in secretions until it was so damp and slick that a curious tentacle could push into him right through it, stretching the fabric obscenely. _“Not a single tear,”_  Lotor kept reminding himself as he was finally stripped and tentacle after tentacle squirmed inside him, used him, and released an egg. He kept his mouth resolutely shut without a hint of grimace until the very last moment when the Xreophar eventually managed to pry his jaw open and worm its way in and use Lotor’s mouth the same way it was using his anus. And when that happened, Lotor stared dead ahead, unflinching, refusing to screw his eyes in humiliation or discomfort. _“Not a single tear,”_  he reminded himself as, sometime later, the creature changed its mind and switched a tentacle from his ass into his mouth and the whole audience on the other side of the plyocarbonate groaned in disgust and fell into laughter.

By the time the Xreophar was finished and had laid the last of its eggs wherever it pleased, Lotor was so full of eggs that his abdomen sagged heavily when he stood and pain shot threateningly through his ribs and sternum. He reminded himself one last time,  _“Not a single tear,”_  as he slowly made his way back out through the humilock on shaky legs.

There were still some chuckles rolling through the crowd when he faced them. Lotor ignored them and squared his shoulders to Prorok.

“It would appear,” Lotor announced, keeping his tone mild, “that the Xreophar is once again in perfect health. Likely, its declining state was a heretofore undocumented symptom of its approaching ovulation. I’ve taken care of that for now, and we should have no more troubles delivering it to Central Command.”

There was a stunned silence.

“Central Command?” Prorok asked with a condescending smile. “Xreophar paltorithe is farmed in the Halziffa system labs, where they have the equipment for such things. Central Command wou-”

“I’m aware of that, Prorok, thank you.” Lotor returned the smile. “But this one isn’t going to be farmed. This one will be my pet. Halziffa is much too far away for me to travel to every time I want to play. We’ll drop it off at Central Command. Please call ahead to the Command Steward and have them get started on a plyocarbonate chamber attached to my apartments.”

Seeing the stunned look on Prorok’s stupid face reassured him. Lotor knew for certain then that he wouldn’t cry until he was alone, and he walked off, still stark naked and bloated, with his head held high, through the sea of horrified soldiers.

_“He’ll keep it as a pet?”  
_

_“Is he insane?”  
_

_“Did he really enjoy that?”  
_

_“No one could enjoy themselves through such pain and humiliation!”  
_

_“Seems Prince Lotor could. And did.”_

Lotor’s smile grows wider as he watches the Xreophar stretch its many limbs. He remembers those whispers as clearly as if he’d heard them just yesterday. How they shook with fear. How they trembled with reverence. To this day, the whole Empire still thinks that he plays regularly with the horrific pet locked away in his royal apartments. They whisper that he is insane, that he’s shameless, that he can’t feel pain. Even Zarkon himself started to speak to Lotor differently when the news spread like wildfire through Central Command. It was nothing quite like respect, but almost something approaching recognition.

Axca thinks he keeps up the farce for the rumors. For the status.

The truth is more contemptible than even that. 

Nothing fuels his hate and inspires him with brilliant ideas quite like spending some time sprawled on the chaise in front of the plyocarbonate chamber, watching his abominable pet crawl around. 

And sometimes, when his back is to the wall, when nothing he tries seems to get him closer to his goals, nothing shocks him into desperately clawing his way to victory quite like stepping through the humilock and submitting himself once more to that old nightmare.

But not tonight.

Lotor stands and makes his way to meet his Generals.

Tonight, everything is going exactly according to plan.

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr blog where i post a lot more lotor content (cough, smut) is [sluttylotor](https://sluttylotor.tumblr.com/).


End file.
